


Fractured

by eriev



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 04:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11706537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eriev/pseuds/eriev
Summary: Lee grieves for Fred.





	Fractured

When Lee walks into the Hogs Head, the barman doesn’t bat an eye before sliding a full mug of Firewhiskey over the counter.  Of course, the mug never remains full for long; it is quickly emptied like he himself is.  Hollow.  He moves the cup to his lips sloppily and without thinking in a way that would suggest a puppeteer clumsily controlling the arms of a Marquette.  He thinks that he is a puppet himself and the world is just one big puppet drama for the amusement of its bastard of a creator who makes the puppets laugh, cry, and die brutally just because he’s that much of a sadist.  And fall in love, pulling on heartstrings, weaving them together before cutting them apart. 

He tilts the mug and quickly downs the Firewhiskey as it pours down the back of his throat, igniting his veins before leaving a burning sensation and a tingling one that lingers for moments before he shouts for the barman to refill his mug.  He’s grateful for the burning; it’s one of the only sensations that his body will feel anymore.  Before the burning and the numbness were other feelings, but he’s too drunk and too numb to try and remember them.  Besides, remembering…. the numbness is always better, but he’s fallen into a dark hole and can’t climb out.

_ “Fred, you prat, why did you leave me?” _

* * *

Before the numbness and the burning brought on by the drinking, there was pain.  It was pain so searing it cut across him like a hot blade, chopping him until every one of the pieces fell away and nothing was left.

It started with a whisper.  “He’s dead.  Lee, he’s gone and he’s not coming back.”  At first he thinks it is a joke, but George has never been  _ that _ good of an actor.  His voice is  _ wrecked _ , cracked like he’s crumbling to tiny pieces.  His face is shiny with drying tears, and his eyes are red and puffy.

He feels a pull in his chest and that’s where the pain starts.  “The body.  I need to see the body.”  Calling Fred  _ the body _ is strange and he would laugh at being referred to as such.  Fred, so full of life, is the opposite of  _ the body _ .  

“The body,” George repeats, trembling.  “Lee, I don’t think you want to see –”  Half of that is him trying to protect him and the other half, he gathers, is him trying to protect himself.  He’s already seen it.  A more searing pain shoots through his chest.

“I need to see it.”  His voice is firm now.  “I have to – ”

George places a hand on his shoulder and leads him down a hallway; he can’t remember which one.  All the hallways and doors and stairwells seem to bleed together and he can’t discern one from another.  Eventually, they reach a small classroom.  “In there,” George says, and then he walks away, leaving him to see whatever lurks behind the door.

Now that he’s there, he doesn’t want to go in.  Seeing  _ the body _ would make it final.  But then he hears Fred’s voice in his head.   _ “C’mon Lee, aren’t you supposed to be a Gryffindor?  Not scared of a few ghosties, are you?” _  He opens the door and walks in quickly to get it over with.

He doesn’t see Fred right away.  He supposes that if Fred would be the main course of his meal of misery, then these are the appetizers.  There are roughly fifteen bodies in the room, some of which he recognizes.  Colin Creevey, Michael Corner, Rodger Davies…. His stomach twists into knots.  

But then he sees  _ him _ , right in the center of it all, and he has to grasp a wall to prevent himself from stumbling to the floor.  He makes his way over to Fred, tumbling clumsily through the barrage of bodies.  The dim light emanating from the window and shining on the body makes Fred look like an angel, though he knows the real man is anything but.  

He drops to his knees in front of Fred and the pain shoots in sharp bolts from his chest to the tip of his toes as his entire world falls apart.  He takes in the sight in front of him. Fred is still, almost as if he didn’t want to get caught doing something.  His lips are curved upward in a smile and his eyes are shut.  Worst of all, his skin is as white as a sheet and beginning to turn the pale blue of death.

Shakily, he grabs Fred’s hand, the hand that was always filled with such warmth.  The coldness in the hand makes him led out a cry so loud he’s sure George can hear it all the way wherever he is.  The pain shakes his body and he collapses over Fred’s form, the coldness of which makes him sob harder at the feeling of the body that was once so comforting and full of life.  

He should’ve been there, should’ve been able to protect Fred.  He hadn’t been near George when it happened, had he?  He certainly hadn’t been near him, or he wouldn’t be dead.  As he sobs and the pain threatens to fracture his heart, he is able to let out one joke.

_ “George isn’t the holiest now, is he?” _

* * *

The last time he sees Fred is right before Fred and George leave for the battle.  “We’re going to fight,” Fred says.  “Gonna take down old Moldyshorts once and for all.”

“Harry’s returned?” he can barely hide his excitement.  After months of hoping…

“Ginny says so; she says he’s willing to fight.  Hey, it’s the opportunity we’ve been looking for and we’re going to make it count.”

“Gonna kick some Death Eater ass?”

“You know it.  Think you can get more than me?”  Fred’s breath tickles his ear.

“With your spellwork? Definitely,” he says.  “You’d be lucky to get four; I could take down more easily.”  

“So, you coming?” Fred asks.  “After all, it’s not every day you see the Dark Lord get his arse handed to him by a teenager.”

“I have to… I’ll be there in a moment.  Just have to get a few things,” he says.  George calls for Fred and they look at each other one last time.  “Save a few for me?  If you haven’t destroyed them all.”

“Any in particular you’d like?”  George calls out for Fred once more and Fred shoots him a guilty look.  “Gotta go.”

“See ya, then,” he says and he and Fred embrace so tightly he can feel the Weasley’s heartbeat from beneath his thin shirt and can briefly smell his hair, which smells of dirt and grime and sweat from lack of shampoo usage.  

They kiss for one last time and it is a kiss that he will remember for quite a while afterwards.  The heat of Fred’s body against his own, Fred’s chapped, thin lips moving against his full ones, the way Fred’s hands grip his shoulders, as if to say  _ stay safe _ and  _ don’t die on me, Jordan _ .  Lee does his best to convey the same message.  He wants it to last but George (the wanker) calls Fred once more and they pull away.  Fred looks at him one more time before turning away and walking towards his brother.  He knows that he himself will soon join the battle, but he has a couple things to attend to, such as his bladder.  Can’t fight a huge battle when you need to pee.  He watches as the bright red hair of Fred and George disappears.

_ “Se ya on the other side, Fred.” _

* * *

Before the pain was the love and the happiness, but soon those feelings will seem a distant memory.  They were always friends, but they grow even closer to each other when on the run.  From the moment Kingsley’s patronus landed in the yard, they were constantly on the run, in a way.  And when Death Eaters showed up to crash the party, the chase had begun.

They had started a radio broadcast to lift the spirits of everyone; it was his idea.  Being a former Quidditch commentator, he knew how much of an impact words had on the masses.  Fred had clapped his back and smiled at him and he knew that he would do anything to make his idea spring to fruition.

It had and many nights were spent in random shacks and various places scattered throughout the United Kingdom.  They ate together, slept together, and more often it was Fred doing the broadcasts than George.  So they spent time alone practicing and laughing in spite of the danger.  Despite the fact that Fred had a brother missing and a sister at Hogwarts.  Despite the fact that his own familial connections with the wizarding world were shaky at best.

The brothers were as close as ever, but Fred had been spending more time with just him and it was no surprise when one morning, they wake up with hangovers in the same bed (at Aunt Muriel’s, no less).  Embarrassment leads to talking, which leads to confessions, which leads to both of them sharing the same bed a few more times.

In the midst of a war, their relationship was one thing that wrought no fear from either of them.  In the dark of the night, in Fred’s embrace, he wonders where that relationship will go after the war.

_ “I decided to write a poem, Lee:  roses are red, violets are blue; war sucks, but you don’t.” _

_ “Bravo, Fred.  Should I be swooning now? Hey Fred……? _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “I think we’re gonna do it.  Beat You-Know-Who, keep from getting captured by Death Eaters....” _

_ “And is staying together on that list?”  _

_ “Right after staying alive.” _

 

**Author's Note:**

> For something that was written in 2014, I'm actually pretty happy with how this turned out.


End file.
